


Accept What Is

by KoolJack1



Series: Keeping You Close [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Valhalla Rising
Genre: AU-Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Hospital, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of self-harm, Therapy, mentions of rape/non-con, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:43:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoolJack1/pseuds/KoolJack1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the poor decision, One-Eye has to face the truth and come to terms with his past and prepare for a future- and decide where Will stands in his life.</p><p>Sequel to Humane and It Takes Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Part 3.
> 
> Happy ending, I promise (sigh)

He's awake the entire time, his eyelid fluttering tiredly while they transfuse him blood and stitch his wrists.

The room is narrow and the lights fluctuate above him, his chest too tight to inhale. He can't remember where Will is, and he struggles to sit up to search for him. Fear strikes deep when too many sets of hands force him to lay flat again, people holding him down makes him hyper aware that they can feel his useless struggles.

Air splutters in and out of his mouth and he twists his neck away when a mask is pressed over his nose and mouth - _they're going to suffocate me, Will?-_ uselessly as someone straightens his face and forces the plastic mask onto him. "Inhale slowly," he hears, but all he can manage is panting gasps.

The muscles in his arms and legs jerk restlessly against the hands as soon as their grips lax, only to tighten again when he struggles. He knows better than to fight, but it's just not the same this time. This is his doing, he made a mistake and now they'd lock him away where he'd never feel pain or joy again. He'd never be hungry and he'd never be full. The thought of being locked away but never feeling again strangles the air from him, then everything is black. He'd given up his freedom. 

When he opens his eyes again, the consistent pressure of five point restraints soothes the wave of fear. He feels a twisting sense of relief that no one is touching him; he can't help but think he wishes he would have been strapped down like this instead of on his knees all those years. He feels numb, staring up at the ceiling and accepting the spoon of ice chips someone slips into his mouth. He can't turn his head to look for Will, but he doesn't smell his aftershave and he knows he's not there.

~*~*~*~

It's an eternity before they release him, they fool him once by releasing each limb one by one so he can stretch them, only to secure them again. He doesn't resist, but he does feel more clear headed when they finally do release him all the way. He feels tired and worn down, but he can focus on one thought. Despite the terrible soreness in his throat and a headache, he feels alert. He glances up at the woman who offers him the ice chips and balances him in the sitting position. "You look much better, sweetheart." He looks away quickly and sucks on the ice, studying the tightly wrapped bandages on his wrists. Shame weighs on his shoulders and he self-consciously hugs his middle. "Don't dwell on those too much, think of how you're going to go on for here. Don't be embarrassed, we are here to help. We want to." She reaches her dark hand to rub lotion into his skin where one of the straps left the skin a little raw. "I'm Louise."

Her presence is comforting, he relaxes and watches her work around him. "Twenty-four hour suicide watch is rough, you spent a lot of the time screaming. Ice will sooth your throat," she explains, spooning more into his mouth. "You calmed down eventually, then you were no trouble at all. They're gonna get a room for you, then we will move you up stairs." He shivers, then there is a blanket wrapped around him. He wants to say thank you, or apologize and tell her he isn't an animal, not anymore. He was confused, he doesn't act like that anymore. He frowns at the bedding and wonders what Will would say. "You were afraid, a lot was happening at once. Compared to what we usually see, you were calm." He looks up and manages to find her dark eyes that are the same color as her skin. She looks back gently; no judgement or anger on her face, then he looks away.

~*~*~*~

"He's off suicide watch and he's settled into a room now," the doctor tells him, and he wants to ask when he can see him, but the words stick I'm his throat. "I'm trying to get him comfortable so we can work on some therapy, I'm trying to get him to write and draw so we can communicate."

"He knows how to write," Will says lamely, offended by the implication that One-Eye wasn't capable.

"I'm aware, I'm sure he is capable of a lot of things- it becomes a matter of getting him to do them." Will nods once and looks away, "he can't have visitors until he's made some progress, then we can talk about outpatient treatment. He has to communicate first." It's as if the doctor read his mind, and he can't help but think that it'll never happen. One-Eye will never communicate.

~*~*~*~

Adjusting is hard. His room is too quiet and he misses Will and the dogs. Most people don't bother to introduce themselves, they come with food and medication. Louise comes in with a big smile and crosswords from the newspaper, he stares at the page in her hand with Suduko, "You like that game better? I have a whole book of it you can have," she said one day, and the next day she gave him an entire book of puzzles. He thinks of Will and the beginning when he wasn't sure how Will would want him to act. Will had accepted him and he let him down.

The puzzles blur before his eyes, and the tears drip down his face. He's so useless. Louise hands him a tissue and he hurries his face in his hands to hide it from her.

~*~*~*~  
A man comes in and introduces himself as Doctor Rowell. He sits down and One-Eye focuses out the window. "I want to get right to the point. I know you've been through a lot and this is the last place you want to be. You have to work with me so we can get you out of here." One-Eye looks at him quickly then looks away again, "You can look at me, you can communicate with me however you feel comfortable."

They sit there for another fifteen minutes before the doctor stands, "I'll be back tomorrow."

~*~*~*~*~

He learns the routine and it makes him comfortable. Someone brings him breakfast and medication that he devours because he's afraid it'll be his last meal. He does Suduko until Louise comes in and tells him it's time for a shower, then she checks his wrists and brings him clean scrubs. Doctor Rowell comes and he sits and listens to him talk about the outside world for an hour. Then lunch comes and he reads whatever book Louise left for him, then he sits by the window. Dinner rolls around and he finds himself tired even though he doesn't do anything. They give him more pills and he can't resist sleep after an hour.

He shuts himself down and lets the time pass just like he used to, letting the world go by however the people around him say. He thinks of Will before he goes to bed, and wishes he was there so he could fall asleep with him.

~*~*~*~

"Seeing you will make it harder, Will. He has to stand on his own two feet first," Alana says while he washes Winston on the porch. It's been a month since the accident, and he hadn't seen One-Eye since that night.

"I'm afraid he won't get better, maybe he thinks I abandoned him."

"I know Doctor Rowell personally, he's a nice man. One-Eye will open up and you'll be free to see him."

 

~*~*~*~

He dreams at night that Walt takes Will and chains him in a cage and he wakes up drenched and terrified. Will's screams echo in his head and he gets up because he's alone and confused and stumbles out into the hallway. He doesn't know what he needs but he just leans on the wall and wraps his arms around his middle until two nurses come rushing over. They help him into the bathroom to change, where he throws up, then sits quietly while they help him change.

The bed is dry and fresh when they bring him back to bed, he sits on the edge of the bed and only then realizes that one of the women is the one who was there for him through suicide watch. "You okay, sweetheart? You looked pretty spooked." Louise encourages him to lay back, and he blinks up at her. "I was reading a poetry book at the station, want me to read it to you for awhile?"

She goes to get it and pulls up a chair. She reads to him while he stares at her, confused by the comfort she brings until her voice lulls him to sleep.

~*~*~*~

"I heard you had a rough night last night," Rowell begins, One-Eye puts a three in the top box of his Suduko. "Why don't you write something?"

He doesn't want to, he grips the pen tightly and glances up. The man hands him a pad of lined paper. He wants to ask about Will and when he can see him. "Why don't you write how you're feeling? Even in one word."

He stares at the paper for a full eight minutes before he slowly lifts the pen to the paper. His handwriting is shaky and requires his full concentration. Rowell reaches for his hand and he flinches back, "Try holding the pen like this." He readjusts his fingers for a better grip, then leaves him to try again. The letters take shape and he drops the pad after. _empty_ Rowell smiles at him encouragingly, "That's a good start. Why don't you tell me about yourself, what's your favorite color?"

He stares at Rowell uncertainly, unsure what he's supposed to write. He'd never considered it. He looks around the room and observes the colors. The walls resemble the sky, _blue_.

That's how they start off every session, he writes how he feels and answers a simple question. After a few days he puts more thought into how he feels besides empty, and he switches to lonely. Then angry, tired, frustrated.

It's six weeks when he looks up at Rowell from his place on the bed and hands back the paper back with 'okay' written on it.

~*~*~*~

"You spend a lot of time staring out the window, why don't we have a walk?" The doctor suggests weeks later, and One-Eye stays put. The doctor doesn't sit this time, and One-Eye watches him closely. "Okay, we don't have to. I'm going to spend today's session in my office. You're more than welcome to join me," and then he leaves him there alone.

He'd hated the daily visits, but somewhere in his time there he'd come to accept the company. The room feels small and bleak, his chest tightens and he can't help but feel he's done something wrong again. He's afraid the punishment will be to leave him alone for good. He makes himself stand and walk down the hall to stand in the doorway of the warmly decorated office. "Come in."

"Have a seat," he insists, and One-Eye does as he's asked, his hands twist in his lap and he keeps his attention on them. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

One-Eye forces himself to look up for a second before he looks away again. "This is where the other patients have their therapy, and I figured since you were feeling better- you might be ready to come here and talk." He doesn't know why but he stands up again, backing away from the desk just to have space. He doesn't know why he does a lot of the things he does anymore. He can't explain the feelings he has, only that they scare him. Why did he leave the room? "Are you anxious? You're shaking." He takes another step back and wishes he could communicate that he wants Will because he needs fresh air but he's afraid to go outside without him.

His lungs tighten again and he bites the inside of his cheek to stifle the sudden dread that he'll be stuck here, just like this, forever. Had Will even tried to visit him?

"One-Eye, look at me," he does what he's told because he has to, and Dr. Rowell is standing next to his open office window. "Come stand by the window, get some fresh air."

His chest loosens when the outside air enters his lungs and he shuts his eyes to enjoy it. Behind his lids Will is there and they're fishing in the stream. "Deep breaths, nothing bad is going to happen if you leave your room."

Tears well up in his good eye and he turns to bury his face into the other man's shoulder without thinking. "Alright," Rowell wraps an arm around him and eases him back into the seat. Frustration wells inside him because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. He feels like he's walking on eggshells and anything that happened before coming here never even happened. Was Will even real?

He reaches for a pen and paper from the desk and sniffles. _Will?_

"You miss him." One-Eye stares up at him, then nods once, jerkily. "How do you feel about Will?"  
He frowns and tenses his mouth. He thinks back to the feelings he couldn't identify in his months around Will. Warm, full, _hopeful_.  
He thinks of one of the poems Louise read him-

_Wine comes in at the mouth_  
 _And love comes in at the eye;_  
 _That’s all we shall know for truth_  
 _Before we grow old and die._  
 _I lift the glass to my mouth,  
_ _I look at you, and I sigh._

He stops over thinking and writes the word he couldn't face before. _love_. 

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: A Drinking Song by W.B. Yeats


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this chapter was just not working for me. It's been modified a million times and I could tweak it forever but I finally said fuck it it's time to post so here it is. If it's not working for whatever reason, I have the original I can swap it with. It's unbeta'd.
> 
> I appreciate honest comments. It's getting tricky now- I don't want to ruin the characters but they have to evolve, especially One-Eye.

He's told that he can see Will when he makes progress.

He doesn't know how to make progress, therefor he finds himself doing whatever is asked of him. He just wants to be good, he can't gauge if he's good or bad; there is no punishment and no reward. They don't withhold his food or beat him, they don't scream at him or tie him down. Memories come back to him in small doses, flashes of images and moments that he can nearly remember feeling. He spends his time sitting and thinking about them, wondering if he can force more to come his way. He remembers the little boy, his little boy. The memories don't scare him, they comfort him. Mischa, his name had rolled into his mind like waves on a rocky beach. It was like he had been given the key to his own brain- all he needed was to sit quietly and try.

He isn't afraid to remember, but he is afraid to share the truth. He was, when they first started to make themselves known. The whispers in his head were confusing, a perception that nearly seemed he was still making it up. The memories now fit, he can clearly remember that these are in fact his. He can tell the difference between reality and memories, the feelings present differently. The more he is alone, the more he sorts through. Clips that come to him in the final moments of wakefulness, before they manifest into nightmares. Kissing someone that isn't Will, isn't even a man. Soft skin. Small hands wrapped around his neck and a small head resting on his shoulder. He doesn't want to share the name he can finally recall, he doesn't want to tell them he can remember the moment they were taken. Instead, he does exactly what they ask him to do, quietly going along and hoping he can convince them enough to let him see Will.

The tasks he's asked to do are simple enough. Draw, write, do the puzzle, take a walk. When they ask him to draw a picture, he draws Will's farmhouse and looks up at his doctor for a response. His fingers tighten on the pencil while he waits.

The man's face remains neutral and he racks his brain for a way to get a response. He wants to know if he's doing good- he wants them to tell him he's doing things right. He's frustrated when he gets no validation. Somewhere deep inside him, a depraved creature desires to please people. He grits his teeth when the picture is put away in a folder with no further comment. 

He feels better when he sees Louise and she reacts to his presence. She always smiles and talks to him calmly while she checks his wrists and gives him a once over. She rubs a cream on his neck, torso, and wrists to help with the scars; truthfully he just likes her touching him. He wants people to touch him, he missed the casual way Will used to.

He draws her a flower one day, from memories that he can't place and takes comfort in the way she beams at him. "This is beautiful, who taught you how to draw like that?"

He doesn't remember, but he blinks at her and looks at Doctor Rowell, who watches the exchange from the door. She waits for something that he isn't sure of, then she reaches out and touches his hand, "thank you."

It inspires their session of the day, "You didn't react to Louise when she was excited for her gift," he begins, and One-Eye feels as though he failed again. Dr. Rowell explains to him facial expressions and how they translate our emotions into a visible form. He starts watching the way faces move around him and tries to mirror them. He looks at his own face in the reflective glass when he attempts to pull his lips into a smile, frustrated by the way the tight skin of the scars tugs and makes his smile look like a snarl.

Even a frown leaves an odd gap where his top lip stays stuck in place. It's ugly and frightening, and he never realized just how different he looks.

Everything that was ever done to him is on display for the world to see.

He tries to make his lips move correctly in time to see Louise again, and he attempts to smile back when she comes in next. "Are you alright, sweetheart? What hurts?" The expression falls from his face and his mouth sets in it's comfortable line once more. Louise stares at him uncertainly for a moment when he looks away from her, "You were smiling," she says quietly when the realization dawns on her. His fingers come up to touch the left side of his mouth, the side that just doesn't cooperate, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just wasn't used to you doing that. I hope you do it again." He doesn't try again, he just sits still while she checks him over. He can tell she's sad, he wonders if he should be too.

*~*~*~*~

"We have to do this, and we have to do it right. We get one chance," he whispers.

The other man raises his head, "Today, the others are ready." They focus on their plan, hoping the others will stick to it. Time has no meaning in the life they live, there is no place for them on this Earth in these conditions.

They will free themselves or die trying. "All of the children, our children- we will never find them again. We will all be scattered away, we will never get out of this if we don't act."

The others don't seem as convinced, but they look over to the sleeping mass of youngsters resting on the women and Lock-Jaw knows they will follow the plan.

~*~*~*~

He cries in his sleep, they tell him. His dreams consist of angry faces and brutal beatings; his little boy and Will's face all swim together. He wakes up and reaches out for something to hold onto, forgetting that he's alone. He flinches away from the unfamiliar hands that clean him up on those nights, not comforted by their soothing words.

Doctor Rowell casually brings up the incidents, asking him to write down what causes them. He tries to come up with words that explain his experience. Rowell just watches him struggle, scribbling out words that just don't fit.

He wants to be told how he feels, he wants someone to scream at him and beat him until he doesn't feel so much anymore. He feels everything now; confusion, fear, helpless.

It isn't intentional, but he strikes out at the pen holder on the desk and sends it scattering to the floor. The noise sounds deafening in the small office, One-Eye stares at the cracked container and wonders why he did it.

"Are you frustrated?" Rowell says calmly, "If you are, that's okay. But you don't break things. Show me how you feel without breaking anything." He grits his teeth and clenches his hand so hard on the pencil that it snaps like a twig and digs into his palm. The two halves of the pencil slip to the floor and roll away, then Rowell moves from his chair just as One-Eye loses the ability to inhale.

He expects the next things he feels to be a blow to the head, and his hands instinctively cradle what they can cover. The pain never comes, instead someone is lifting his arms over his head. "Keep your arms up, you're having a panic attack." The shortness of breath eases slowly, and only when the pounding of his heart slows does he realize he was making noises. Quiet keening, like a wounded animal- a noise he'd never heard himself make before.

"You're okay, you did very good," Rowell says, and he's sitting across from him again, patiently waiting. "Panic attacks are scary, if it ever happens again just raise your arms and remember that it will end."

He sniffles and helps himself to a new pencil and writes _sorry_ , ignoring the way his hands shake, and offers a small smile to the doctor.

The man looks pleased, "I forgive you. You're doing very well, even though I know you might not be aware of it." He leans forward then, "What is it you remember about yourself? I know you're in there, and I know remembering scares you, but repressing all of the tragedy will ruin the rest of your life. It will take your future away, like it's taking your past."

One-Eye stares at the other man, his head still light from the onslaught of the panic attack. He's been here in this hospital for awhile now, nothing bad has happened to him. They want to help, _he needs help_ , and it could be the only way they'll let him see Will again. The thoughts that swim in his head and contaminate his being rise in his throat and he can nearly taste them. For a second they feel as though they could just as easily slip out from between his lips, in a voice that would sound as though it was dragged through burning embers and skinned alive. Instead he writes the name that haunts his dreams, his good eye stinging with tears, _Mischa_.

"Who's Mischa?"

 _Son_.

"You've remembered this for awhile," the man states, and One-Eye looks up guiltily, "What else do you remember?"

He shakes his head and pushes the paper away, retrieving the abused pen holder and settling it back on the desk. "Do you know what I think?" Rowell says when he's about to leave, "I think you can speak, you make more noise now then you ever have before. You're adapting, there is nothing wrong with you- all you have to do is let yourself recover."

~*~*~*~

It's a little after eight at night when Will's phone rings, and he expects it to be Jack or Alana, even Beverly over who's calling him. "Hello Doctor Rowell."

"I apologize for the late hour, Mr. Graham. Today has been a sort of breakthrough for One-Eye, a milestone in is progress and I didn't want to wait until morning to contact you."

Will sits up straight on his couch, the book he'd been reading sliding off his lap and startling the dogs. "I'm glad you didn't wait, what happened?"

"I've told you before that there has been progress, substantially, over the past few months. The bouts of depression seem less and less with each day, but today he revealed he's been remembering things about his past. His son's name, for example. Mischa."

Will has nothing to add to the conversation, and he holds his breath while he waits for more. "He was reluctant to share, but I believe the progress he's been making stems from the desire to be reunited with you. I believe it would be beneficial to his recovery if you came for a visit."

Emotion swells in his chest in a way he can't remember before, he clears his throat, "Of course, when is a good time?"

"Tomorrow, around noon."

"Does he know?"

"No, I think a surprise will suit him well."

~*~*~*~

Lock-Jaw hears the lock turn and click, and he looks up at the others. The time is now; they will be transported again under the cover of darkness. There is already a buyer for some of the children, they'd overheard. The rest well, no one really knows where they will end up.

He doesn't think anymore about it, as soon as the chain is unlocked, he lunges towards the closest person. A bullet grazes his arm and lodges into the man's chest, and the children scream and scurry towards the women. The automatic rifle is simple enough to use, and he doesn't have time to remove it from the corpse before he turns and squeezes the trigger. He hears more people come in, and he tosses the key to the chains in the general direction of the other men before he just shoots blindly. Everything happens so fast, he doesn't even register the pain until the weapon clicks empty, and even then he rolls towards another body. The others have freed themselves, and one of them grapples with one of Walt's men. He blacks out before he can make out if the plan is working.

~*~*~*~

The next morning Will finds himself parked outside the Port Haven Psychiatric Facility at quarter to noon. It's almost laughable, how nervous he feels- as if he's going on a first date and not seeing his mentally unstable friend after a suicide attempt. He gathers up his copy of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ and the freshly washed apple and checks in at the front desk. Rowell comes to meet him minutes later, "Sorry to keep you waiting; one of the nurses, Louise, had to convince him a shower and a walk outside would do him some good."

Will nods and looks down at his shoes, "He'll be very happy to see you."

"I'm not too sure what I should say," he admits, frowning at his sneakers.

"Well, you don't have to say much of anything. Be honest with him, Will. Don't treat him any differently then you did before."

Will nods once and rubs his jaw, "We're taking a walk?"

"The two of you are, around the grounds." Before any more can be added to the conversation, One-Eye turns the corner with a dark skinned nurse. One-Eye freezes when they make eye contact, and Will stands up while they simply look at each other. One-Eye's skin looks less sunken, his body more filled out. His hair even looks thicker; the consistent, proper nutrition doing wonders for him. One-Eye moves first, taking a few tentative steps towards him before closing the gap completely and wrapping his arms around Will without further thought. Will brings his own around the other man's waist, relief washing through him. Will can feel the other man breathing against his skin, clinging to him tighter.

"Hi," Will whispers, laughing at the way One-Eye tangles fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. "I missed you," he murmurs and One-Eye pulls back just enough to nuzzle against the side of Will's face. Rowell and the nurse are gone already, and Will squeezes One-Eye's arm. "Let's go for a walk?"

It's warm out, despite the faint dusting of snow on the ground. One-Eye stays so close to him they brush against each other with each step, then a hand finds Will's where it dangles and the long fingers squeeze between his. "You look so good, better than you have since I've known you." One-Eye looks at him and his mouth pulls up into a _smile_. Will stares at the expression on the previously stone face, his mouth open in surprise. His top lip pulls up awkwardly from the scars, but the expression is genuine. One-Eye blinks when Will just stares, and he feels the sting of rejection that makes him reflexively cover his mouth with his free hand. Will intercepts the movement and holds his other hand too, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare," he whispers, and One-Eye can't meet his eyes, he even flinches when Will grasps his chin to tilt his face back up. The calloused pad of Will's thumb gently brushes down his left cheek to the spot where his lip tugs when he tilts them up or down. "It's hard not to stare at you, you're so handsome," Will whispers, and his lips tilt upwards again despite himself. Will smiles back this time, "I never thought I'd see you smile, that was all."

Will turns them again and tugs his hand so he walks again, "You look so well, this was really good for you, being here." One-Eye squeezes his fingers in response, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you more, I hope you can forgive me. I didn't know what else to do, but I would never abandon you." He leaves it at that, content that the other man isn't angry at him. A small part of him had the hope that One-Eye would have found his voice by now, uttered a word to him now, when they were alone. Instead the silence carries on, it's comfortable. One-Eye squeezes their interlaced fingers every once in awhile, glancing over at Will as if to confirm he's really there. They walk for nearly half an hour before returning inside, where Rowell waits for them with a smile.

"Nice day for a walk," he comments easily, "Why don't we go to my office for awhile?"

One-Eye is comfortable around the other man, it's apparent in how easily he walks besides him and sits at the desk. He reaches for a pen and paper, writes something, then hands it to Will. _Will_ is written on the scrap, and Will can't help but smile at it. "He's taken to writing and drawing, though I think he prefers to draw. May I show Will some of the work?"

Theres a short nod, and the doctor pulls the folder from the desk and hands it to Will. There a few drawings of his house that look unfinished but detailed, one of Winston, and a few of random things he must have seen and remembered. Behind the drawings are pieces of paper with seemingly random words, "Those are his answers to questions over his time here, his vocabulary is rather extensive even with one word." Will reads them over, trying to imagine the feelings while they were being written down. He can't deny he was impressed, considering how distant One-Eye was before. One-Eye reaches out to hold onto Will's sleeve casually, a sign of possessiveness that doesn't go unnoticed but goes unmentioned. It wasn't uncommon for him to do something like that, act in a way with no regard to what others around him would think. It's almost refreshing, the way he acts primitively, unrestricted by societies norms because he was reprogrammed to survive by any means. Will doesn't shake the hand off, he just lets the other man be. His phone rings and One-Eye jumps, still unsure with sudden noises and movement, but Will has stopped thinking anything of that. Accepting the way things are and letting them be is the only way to move forward.

He uses his free hand to take the phone out, apologizing, then frowning at the caller ID. "Jack?"

"A little over an hour ago, border patrol spotted a small group of people running towards the border from Mexico. They were intercepted and questioned, then I was contacted. The men were terrified, claimed they were being held against their will and forced to fight. They had the same marks from restraints, they said they overpowered the men holding them and that there were still more of them left behind, including women and children. I think we found them Will, we just have to find where these people escaped from and they might have taken out Walt or have information to where he is. We need to get down there- now."

Will turned to look at One-Eye, who was staring at him uncertainly, suspecting what was coming. "I'll be right there." He shoved the phone back in his pocket and reached his other hand to hold One-Eye's. "I have to leave for right now, we have a new lead on where Walt is." The other man didn't react, but his eyes fell on where their hands were joined. "Please listen to me, I'm coming back, as soon as this is over. I need to catch this man, you'll never be safe otherwise. The other people he had, we need to save them too. They deserve a chance at life, and I can help them." One-Eye looks up at him then, and Will is nearly certain the man looks at him proudly. "Keep getting better, then you can be out of here and really start your life. There's so much more for you, I promise. I have to help these people though, I know you want that too."

One-Eye nods once and releases his arm, and Will doesn't hesitate to get up and hug him, "I'll be back soon." He doesn't let himself linger, no matter how much he doesn't want to leave, it was time to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep flip flopping between eventually having One-Eye talk or not. By talking I mean a very raspy word not a speech. I keep leaning towards no, so gut feeling is no. But…the idea is always there.
> 
> Writer is having self doubt and writers block please good readers tell me to throw in the towel on it and quit while I'm ahead or if I should carry one. I never wrote a series (that I stuck with) so I've never gotten to that ending point where I must tie everything up. It's nerve wracking, I don't want to come all this way and flop.
> 
> flop flop.


End file.
